


Bring Him Home

by CluelessKitten



Series: If There Ever Comes A Day When We Can't Be Together (Keep Me In Your Heart, I'll Stay There Forever) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Minor Character Death, Order 66, Post-Order 66
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CluelessKitten/pseuds/CluelessKitten
Summary: “C-Cal,” he whispers. “My name’s Cal.”“Pleased to meet you, Cal. I’m Prauf, and I promise – everything’s going to be okay.”
Series: If There Ever Comes A Day When We Can't Be Together (Keep Me In Your Heart, I'll Stay There Forever) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753282
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to my first fic in any Star Wars fandom anywhere! Hopefully, you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Eventually, the escape pod hits – well, it hits _some_ thing.

The impact tosses Cal out of the chair and his back hits one of the walls. Master Tapal’s body – his … his _corpse_ – nearly lands on top of him. Cal almost shrieks at the lifeless face falling so close to his, and he scrambles away from it as soon as he can get his bearings.

Fingers trembling, he messes up the code to unlock the hatch twice before the pod opens up. He stumbles onto the ground, gasping and panting polluted air. The knuckles on his hand holding Master Tapal’s lightsaber are almost white, and he --- what is he supposed to do?

The ship exploded. Bracca. Wait for the council’s signal. Bracca. The ship _exploded_. Troops firing on them. Firing on Master Tapal. Why. Why? _Why_?

 _Trust only in the Force_.

“Master,” Cal whimpers softly. The explosion covered their escape, but what is he going to do about the pod? Master Tapal’s corpse? Where is Cal going to _go_ while he waits for the Council signal? How would he even get the transmission? When will it come?

Cal has no one and nothing here.

But Master Tapal … he should be buried, at least. Cal attended a Jedi funeral once, but he doesn’t think he can give Master Tapal the full burial rites without help. He isn’t even on solid ground: broken ship parts surround them. It looks like a … a _junkyard._ And not too far away is a fairly considerable pile of discarded items. Not quite trash – they probably used to be electronic equipment, mostly wires and emitters, a mound of tiny pieces – and it’s not ideal, but…

Cal bites his lip.

_Sorry, Master._

Slowly, carefully, he lifts Master Tapal through the Force, levitating the corpse out of the escape pod and onto a small clearing on the ground, of Cal’s own making. Then, he calls on the Force once more to shift the mound of broken parts over the body. They won’t move at first, but inch by inch, the pieces start crawling towards Master Tapal, covering him. A shiver slides down Cal’s spine when it looks like the mound is eating his master, but he shoves down the bile rising in his throat and keeps going until it hides even Master Tapal’s face.

Then, he throws up. Rinses his mouth with the water provided in the standard emergency pack for escape pods, and starts looking for a way out.

Cal has never been in a junkyard before. At least, not one of this size. He scrambles up one of the higher and sturdier looking piles, pieces of ships just stacked on top of each other in every which way they could be, trying to get a good look of the area. An exit, because as much as the troopers liked joking about Bracca being a trash heap of a planet, it can’t _really_ be _all_ junk, can it? There are … there should be people, right?

The junkyard is dishearteningly massive, and there’s no clear path going anywhere in particular, but he does see that it’s fenced off from the rest of whatever else is on the planet. Eagerly, less carefully than he should have, Cal climbs down. Whatever is beyond the fence, it has to be better than staying in a literal trash heap.

Master Tapal’s lightsaber feels strange in his hands. He ignites the blade, listening to the familiar hum as the blue glow washes over him. There’s no clear organization to the mess, though, and he backtracks more than once before giving up and slipping into one of the small cracks in between what seems like a veritable wall of junk. Even for Cal’s size, it’s a tight fit, but it’s better than trying to find a path in a place where no one has apparently bothered to make one.

Somewhere out of his sight, things are squeaking and scurrying. In the close confines of the wall gaps, Cal can almost swear he feels the weight of a hundred hungry gazes on his person. It almost convinces him to crawl back out, but the sun is already coming down. He can’t keep running in circles.

There’s an ache in his mind, a hollow place where the bond with his master used to reside. It had been an anchor, a source of comfort and guidance ever since Master Tapal and Cal formalized the apprenticeship. Now, he has a borrowed lightsaber clipped to his belt.

It’s a long time before the narrow gap ends. Cal stumbles into open space, falling on his knees to the ground. The fence is just a few meters beyond him. Slashing through would be simple enough or – or he can blast it open with the force if that’d look too suspicious.

The sky is darker now. Cool air kisses his skin, and he knows he needs to find shelter soon. From the elements and from … whatever else is in the junkyard.

He’s just so _tired_. Cal slumps to the ground, head bowed low, hands cradling Master Tapal’s lightsaber. His eyes sting, and a hot trail of tears burn their way down his grubby face. He squeezes his eyes shut, focuses on breathing, focuses on the Living Force, and tries – he _tries_ –

_Emotion, yet peace_

_Ignorance, yet knowledge_

The sound of the creatures, those squeaking, scurrying little things … is it growing louder?

_Passion, yet serenity_

_Chaos, yet harmony_

_Death, yet–_

_Yet…_

He chokes on a sob.

“Master, please,” he whispers. His fingers tighten over the lightsaber. “I’m scared.”

_Fear leads to hate; hate leads to the Dark Side._

He sniffles.

 _Release your feelings into the Force, Padawan_.

“I _can’t_!” he wails.

“Shit!”

A voice rings out in the growing darkness. Cal’s head jerks up. For a single, terrible moment, he thinks it might be one of the clonetroopers come to finish him off. But – but the voice is wrong, and he trembles.

“That sounded like a kid. Is there a kid down there?”

Cal’s breath hitches. Should he call out for help? _Would_ they help?

“Hey, hey! Is anybody out there!”

 _Trust only in the Force_ , Master Tapal said, but … but he can’t feel _anything_. He can’t, and he doesn’t want to. He couldn't get the doors open in time, couldn't save Master Tapal from getting shot. He couldn't even bring himself to use the Force the way he did until after it wouldn’t matter anymore.

He’s … he’s a _failure_.

“Hey, kid, are you down there?”

“I-I am!” Cal shouts. His heart is in his throat. This is a risk, this is a gamble, this is a terrible idea, but what else is there? And-and the voice shouting for him seems concerned, at least. “I don’t know how to get out! Please help me!”

The clones were pretty friendly before they started firing on him, too, though.

Quickly, Cal flicks the lightsaber on just long enough to slice his Padawan braid off. He throws the severed length of hair as far away from himself as he can before turning in the direction he can sense the newcomer. Somewhere in the distance, he can make out a large, slightly bumbling figure from the other side of the fence coming towards him.

He hides the lightsaber inside the fold of his belt.

“Kid, stay right there!”

Cal almost throws himself at the fence when the newcomer steps close enough to see, even through the dark. It’s a tall – much taller than Cal, anyway – Abednedo. Male, going by the voice. Cal gulps.

“Oh my god, kid, how did you even get in there?”

“I don’t – I don’t know, I–” Cal’s voice breaks. Wipes his face in his sleeve, embarrassed, when he remembers the tears from earlier. “I-I just woke up here. Please, get me out!”

“Okay, okay kid, I … I work near here. There’s an exit nearby, but you’ll need to navigate the junk first. Think you can do that?”

Cal nods.

“Alright.” The Abednedo goes down on one knee so that he’s not quit looming over Cal anymore, and something in him relaxes at the gesture. “You’re gonna be fine, kid. Can you tell me your name?”

“C-Cal,” he whispers. “My name’s Cal.”

“Pleased to meet you, Cal. I’m Prauf, and I _promise_ – everything’s going to be okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time marches ever onward, dragging the rest of the galaxy along with it.

Early every morning, Cal wakes up on the same beaten up couch. He rises, dragging his mind out of the awful memories of nightmares and bittersweet nostalgia for the home that was there one moment and gone the next. He has a rhythm now, a routine that Prauf carefully does not interrupt. Wake up, put together a small breakfast for him and his – well, Cal has no idea what to call a person who opens their home to you, but if nothing else, Prauf is at least a friend. Work starts early in the day, and they’re soon out the door in their work clothes – or in Cal’s case, the clothes Prauf managed to trade for.

The odd jobs Prauf manages to get him from the Scrappers Guild don’t usually take up the entire day. They won’t put him on shifts of any sort – _not yet_ , he’d been promised, but as soon as he got a little bigger – but he sticks around just in case. Once Prauf is done with his shift, they take the two train rides back to the apartment where they make and eat dinner together. At night, when there’s still time, Cal explores the streets and alleyways, finding all the nooks and crannies he can potentially hide. Sometimes, especially in the beginning, Prauf would come along and stand some ways off while he pokes around, looking amused and warding off anyone even thinking of approaching Cal.

It feels a bit silly to have an engineer at his back, but he never dares say a word about it. Exploring is always more fun with someone else, anyways.

“Lots of unsavory types going about, Cal,” he warns him whenever he goes out alone. “Especially at night.”

Sometimes, they go to the midnight markets together. But as Cal grows more familiar with the area and its residents and, in Prauf’s words, “I know no one’s gonna try to make off with you”, Prauf just lets him be.

And every night, curled up safely on a battered old couch, Cal cannot hide from the nightmares.

 _Hold the line_ , he remembers. _Wait for the Council’s signal_.

And he does wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until one morning, Cal does not wake still mired in memories of blaster fire or the smell of seared flesh from a nightmare that refuses to fade, nor with an automatic, errant attempt to seek out his Master through their training bond moments before remembering reality. One day, he wakes up and his first thought is–

Would Prauf stay for an extra shift today? Will last night’s leftovers make for a good breakfast, or should he just whip up some of that odd nutritional mush that’s always stocked in the cupboards? He needs to run their clothes to the laundromat soon…

His face flushes with shame. He can’t remember just how long he’s been at Bracca, busy days at the shipbreaking yard blurring together, but it doesn’t matter. How can he just … _forget_ his Master like that?

The self-flagellation lasts long enough that Prauf wakes up with Cal still on the couch.

“Morning, Cal. Feeling okay?”

He tries not to startle too badly. Swallows, straightening. “Y-yeah. Uh, breakfast?”

Predictably, Prauf waves him off. “Hey, don’t worry, I can handle it.”

Despite living in the Temple, then a warship, before he even came to Bracca, Cal can’t quite hide his distaste for the bland mush Prauf tends to whip together for a quick meal. He knows enough about the war to realize that he’s never really starved – not the way he’d heard some of the battalions way out on the front lines occasionally did – and he reminds himself that at least there’s a steady supply of food at all. And besides, they only have it for breakfast anyway. It’s not like it’s the only thing they eat.

More and more, his life at the temple seems so much like some sort of fantastic dream. He knows every inch of the apartment, has thoroughly explored the shipbreaking yards Prauf’s specific Guild branch manages whenever he can get away with it, and life is just … so much simpler, like this.

His mind wanders during work that day. Still, he manages to be careful. The first time he got a workplace injury — common things for members of the rigger crews — Prauf completely freaked out and took the rest of the day off to look after Cal. It was the first time he saw his only friend like that, and he’s done his best not to let it happen again.

His hand comes up to the scarring on his neck that’s never really faded that well since that day. When Prauf found him, Cal had braced himself for some sort of lecture because — well, because that’s what adults _do_. Kids get hurt, they get lectured. An ‘I told you so’ of some sort, maybe.

But not Prauf.

Prauf took one look at the broken parts, the blood on Cal’s face being wiped off by the on-site medic, and went ballistic — just not at Cal. He told off the surrounding workers about the structural integrity of the ship part they’d let him climb in, hands gesturing wildly, promising that this would get back to their head supervisor. It was the first time Cal ever heard him raise his voice in anger, and—

It’d felt good. And awful, but that might have been because he’d hurt so bad. They almost went to the medcenter, but Cal managed to talk Prauf out of it. Medcenters are expensive, and Prauf has given Cal more than he honestly knows how to repay.

He eats Prauf’s food, sleeps at his place, and even got his first non-Jedi attire from Prauf when he realized Cal didn’t have anything else to wear. It’s not a great way to live, it isn’t exactly what Cal used to imagine for himself, but … but it’s not _bad_. Prauf wouldn’t even let him use the money he earns on the small jobs to help pay for anything at first, before finally agreeing to split the grocery bills.

 _“But never anything more than half of what you got,”_ Prauf said with an air of finality Cal decided not to push. He’d gotten some of what he’d wanted, anyway. _“The rest is yours, buddy. You earned it.”_

Cal remembers the first time he got into a scuffle with one of the other crew members. The rigger meant for him to hear it, he thinks, a sneer and a comment about Prauf and Cal’s living arrangements.

It’d made a flush rise all the way up to his ears, but he was still determined not to do anything that might get him put on some sort of blacklist with the worker’s guild. Not when it was his most reliable and promising source of income.

He’d heard them mutter worse before, anyway.

But then the rigger threw a lewd hand gesture at him and said, loudly, _“Didn’t know he was the type to go for the young’uns.”_

And it was _on._

The fight got him a black eye, a bruise on his jaw, a new scar, and a lecture from the supervisor and Prauf, too, that time.

 _“This can’t happen again, Cal,”_ Prauf warned him on one of the train rides home that night. _“They didn’t make a record of it this time ‘cause it was your first fight and the guy was asking for it, but they won’t look the other way forever.”_

And that day really was one for firsts, because Cal actually scowled at him. _“He was sayin’ things about you. Everyone says things about you.”_ Because Cal lives with Prauf. Because Cal has nowhere else to go, and Prauf never, not for one second, entertained the thought of letting him sleep on the streets. _“They’re wrong.”_

_“I know, Cal. Just … you can’t pick a fight with everyone who says those things. We know, and the admins know, and that’s all that matters. Okay?”_

No. It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t even if anger wasn’t the Jedi way or whatever. Fuck that noise, it was _Prauf_. But Cal hung his head slightly, eyes trained on the floor, and muttered, _“Okay.”_

“Something on your mind, Cal?”

He blinks away fresh, old memories. They’re on the train headed back to the apartment. It’s early evening; out the window, the smog blocks out even the factory lights. “What?”

Prauf shrugs. “Been pretty distracted all day. Something bothering you?”

“No, just … just tired,” he mutters. He doesn’t miss the way Prauf eyes him carefully. Concerned. But then, Cal’s pretty sure Prauf’s pegged him as some poor war orphan without any official papers or possible guardians. The Clone Wars left a lot of family-less people, some of whom found their way to Bracca. Not children, though. That seems like some sort of thing on the planet; he hasn’t managed to meet any families that actually live here.

Later that night, when Cal hears Prauf snoring from the bedroom, he takes Master Tapal’s lightsaber out of its hiding place and holds it tight. He feels the grooves of the metal, running reverent fingers over the emitter and the handle. Doesn’t dare ignite the blade, but he holds it and takes a stance.

 _Wait for the council’s signal_.

He’s _trying_. But he’s not an idiot, either; the Holonet releases frequent reports on the scant survivors of the Purge being exterminated across the galaxy, and even those have begun to peter out.

What if Cal is the only one left?

The Force echoes in Master Tapal’s lightsaber, memories and events calling out to him. But he … he can’t. Can’t bring himself to see his master’s last memories and emotions. A shudder wracks his body as he shoves the feeling away. He’s much better at it now, has been forced to do exactly this while working on, in, and around the old ships.

The nightmares never truly leave, but one day, Cal stops reaching for the broken training bond when he wakes up in the mornings. One day, that doesn’t hurt so much anymore. And one day, the couch starts getting just a little too small, and Cal can’t stop outgrowing the clothes Prauf scrounges up from wherever he gets them.

“I think I’m gonna need to move out, soon,” he says casually one morning over breakfast.

Prauf opens his mouth, as if to protest. But then, he really _looks_ at Cal, and he stops. “Yeah, maybe. I’d hate to see you go, though.”

Cal shrugs. “Wasn’t gonna fit on the couch forever.”

“I know, but … but, hey. Lemme make you a deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Wait until I can get the Guild to take you on for regular shifts before you go, and I’ll help you look for a good place.”

Cal shakes his head good-naturedly, but who is he to turn down a Prauf deal? “I don’t think your couch is gonna be able to handle another month of me sleeping on it.”

But Prauf waves his hand. “It can take a few more weeks. You’ve been growing like a sprout, Cal, and you’re smart. They’ll take you on soon, just you wait and see.”

“Okay.” He smiles, slightly. Can’t help it, not when Prauf so obviously doesn’t want him to leave but can’t argue with the fact that he has to. “Until then.”

The morning after the Guild officially takes Cal on for regular work shifts, he finds himself waking up to Prauf’s grinning face.

“Good morning, Cal.”

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “You’re up early.”

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,” Prauf says, just a second before he pulls out… a poncho? “I got it fixed an’ everything.”

Cal takes the outerwear into his hands, noting the slightly sloppy, loose stitching refitting it to his general size.

“You can let it out when you grow some more, see?” Prauf points at the slightly lumpy areas with no small amount of pride. “Just — ahh, what was the word? — I just basted all the extra cloth in. The Guild won’t want to replace your uniform every other week, and the weather’s always shit anyways, so I figured — why not? This way, you won’t be trippin’ all over yourself, or wearing something too tight.”

Cal stares at the poncho. He opens his mouth, but there are no words. Sure enough, it’s water-resistant, easy to clean, and has the Guild’s rigger crew color scheme. It’s a little bit stained, a little bit faded in places, and he has no doubt that once all of the cloth gets ‘let out’, some of the edges will be frayed, but… but…

His eyes hurt, and he has to rub it harshly with the back of his hand to make it go away. Not before a tear or two slips out, though.

“Prauf,” he mutters roughly.

“An’ I remember our promise, okay? I’ve been asking around, and there are a couple of places that seem—“

Prauf stops — freezes, almost — when Cal throws his arms around his friend.

“Thank you,” Cal whispers, voice breaking. “Thank you, Prauf.”

A large hand settles on the back of his head, cautiously stroking his hair.

“Don’t mention it, kid,” he murmurs softly.

He isn’t a Jedi. Maybe he never will be. A budding, traitorous part of him thinks that maybe that’s okay. Reaching out to the Force – it’s not the same as it was before. It feels broken and jagged at the edges, always bringing back the nightmares and the memories every time he even thinks about reaching for it, and maybe it’s okay to become a Rigger forever, no matter how much Prauf tries to hint otherwise at him.

The public listing of Jedi confirmed dead is so long now. He’s found the names of every single one of his old friends on it, and he thinks, _that could be me_.

 _Trust only in the Force_.

But how can he, when the Force has let so many of them die?

He slips the old work poncho on, brushing stray hair out of his face. He meets Prauf at the corner on the way to the train station before they head on to work together, as they still do. Maybe they always will. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

In a few days, they will find an old Jedi Fighter crashed on an old star destroyer. In a few days, Prauf will realize that Cal was always perfectly able to leave on his own when he hints at an escape plan that’s been in place for who knows how long. In a few days, Cal will leave Bracca the way he came: with nothing but the clothes on his back, a lightsaber in hand, and a dead body. In a few days, in a few days…

But for now, for one hazy marmalade morning, life is – if not good or easy – bearable. And with Prauf sitting close beside him, Cal leans back on the train seat, closes his eyes, and tries to catch just a few more minutes of rest before they reach the scrapyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally took my sister's advice to stop fussing over the editing and just publish this. I tried not to make Prauf too overprotective, but I was watching the cutscene of the flashback to little Cal on YouTube, and that boy is just so smol. I can't imagine Prauf just letting Cal wander around Bracca on his own, assuming there's no Child Services of some sort there to lean back on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cal takes a step towards destiny.
> 
> It's not like he has anywhere else to go.

It’s been a long time since Cal woke up to the low, even hum of a running hyperdrive.

His eyes stay firmly shut, dim light filtering through the windows… He must’ve slept in somehow. His body feels sore. Worn down. His heart beats away at the echoes of yesterday.

Prauf must be puttering around somewhere in the apartment, must have made that breakfast mush already. He’ll call Cal soon. He’ll be–

_To the Empire, we’re just expendable._

_Yes, you are._

Cal’s eyes snap open.

His gaze lands on the gray-white metal of the Mantis’ ceiling, sliding towards the workbench placed in the quarters assigned him, to the humble little spot by the door he’s cleared out for meditation. He throws an arm over his eyes and focuses on breathing.

 _Rebuilding the Jedi Order_.

It’s as ridiculous echoing in his head as it was hearing it aloud from that lady. It’s such a monumental task that Cal can’t entirely comprehend the planning and subterfuge it would take to pull off. And what is she hoping for, exactly, when all they have are a single failed Padawan with less than a year of formal training, a Jedi Knight who refuses to touch the Force, and a ship captain with his own baggage. He almost feels bad for anyone they _do_ find.

 _Hold the line. Wait for the Council’s signal_.

 _Trust only in the Force_.

He squeezes his eyes shut, presses the heel of his hands into his eyelids, against the burn.

_I know the risk you took for me._

He shouldn’t have gone on the train. He should’ve known there was security footage of what he’d done. He should’ve realized the Empire’s dogs would be on his tail the moment they caught onto his scent.

He should have known _better_.

 _Pleased to meet you, Cal. I’m Prauf, and I_ promise _– everything’s going to be okay_.

A choked off groan crawls out of his throat, painful and low. To the beat of his heart, a chant burns and echoes: _your fault, your fault, your fault_.

He should have just run.

He should have just died.

Cal squirms and shrugs the battered Guild poncho over his head to hold it close. He curls around the worn-down fabric, breathing in that familiar polluted smell of Bracca’s scrapyards.

,

Cal takes one look at the clear skies over Bogano and ducks back into the Mantis to put away his standard issue work poncho. It’s old and frayed at the ends, and he doesn’t want to expose it to whatever elements are out there. He folds up the piece of outerwear carefully and sets it at the foot of cot in the quarters he’s been assigned.

It’s fine. He has his jacket. Sure, it’s a patchwork piece made from the salvaged remains of even older Scrapper crew uniforms and it doesn’t even have sleeves, but the leather is still good and the straps will keep it from getting knocked off.

It will be enough.

Luckily, the Jedi on Bogano just left storage boxes full of nonperishable supplies. Some of them contain metal pieces that look like they can be welded into lightsaber parts – best of all, some of them _are_ spare lightsaber parts – but most hold some sort of cloth or tarp instead. Both are things he’s grateful for when nightfall comes and the temperature takes a sharp drop.

BD-1 is … something, certainly. Cute, for one thing. Cal didn’t see a whole lot of exploration droids on Bracca, but he can recognize the wear and tear on BD-1. It’s been around for a while, at least, even if its holomap of Bogano is a constant work in progress.

There’s something strangely reassuring about the chirping weight on his shoulder as he progresses through the planet’s odd plains. How long would it have taken the Jedi living here to set all of this up, what with how broken the land’s topography is? Cal can access about a third of the area that seems to have been inhabited by the Jedi, but that’s about it for now.

BD-1 chirps, beeps, trills, and squeaks to get his attention for scannable items. It’s … well, it’s cute. Cal even manages to locate some paint and a fairly passable brush in one of the supply crates he can use to touch up on BD-1’s colors so he doesn’t look quite so worn out, once they have the time.

“Hey, buddy,” Cal pipes up after dashing right the fuck out of the dark cave holding a gigantic, black Oggdo even though there was a supply crate and a huge frakking Force Echo in a corner just beyond the beast. “You still there?”

 _Beep-boop_ - _trill_!

And Cal can’t help the small smile the curls on his lips. “Just checking.”

,

A holocron containing the names of the next generation of Force-sensitive children. Here, now, if currently inaccessible.

Cal sits down heavily on the wet ground before BD-1.

 _Rebuilding the Jedi Order_ , Cere had said. Out of everything in the galaxy, Cal never thought someone would ever say anything like _that_. Not sincerely, and not the way Cere had, the way people do when it’s all they can hold onto. And especially not directed at him, because — because he’s the only one left.

“You know,” he starts, voice rough and quiet, “I’ve been alone for … a while now. Without any … purpose. Just hiding.”

_Listen to me. A finder’s fee like this … it could be your ticket off this soggy rock!_

“That’s not a way to live for a Jedi. Or a droid,” he adds meaningfully, gaze lost in the distance. He feels … chilled. Exhausted deep in his heart, if not his body.

_Eventually, you gotta move on and live your life._

“Maybe Cere was right. Maybe we’re done hiding.”

 _You don’t wanna end up like me_.

It’s almost instinctual, the indignation that sparks at the memory of those words. The unspoken _why not_ and _I wish_. Because what could be so wrong to end up like Prauf? Respected in his work, if not by his supervisors, reasonably well-liked, kind, and … and…

What’s so wrong about any of those things?

But what if that wasn’t what he meant?

_Find your destiny!_

Cal’s gaze snaps back to BD-1, and he feels that odd demeanor wash over him again. It’s familiar, like a glove he’s seen before but never tried to wear, only to realize he’s somehow grown enough for it to fit on his hand. A quiet sort of levity that lets him smile again, even if only slightly, only briefly, and lets him rise out of the gloom.

A smile, perhaps, that looks just a little bit like the one a Guild Scrapper gave to a lost, scared little boy trapped in a scrapyard so many years ago.

“Hey—” he scrambles up from the ground “—you wanna meet some … _friends_ of mine?”

There’s a feeling rising in his chest as he exits the Zeffo temple, BD-1 perched on his back. Maybe it’s hope or a sense of purpose, or maybe he just doesn’t have anything left to lose anymore. But he steps out into the sunlight and lets it drive him forward, back through the ways they came, to the Mantis.

To a new adventure.

And maybe … to destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thought: What if Cal talks to and treats BD-1 the way Prauf did with him, especially in Cal's younger days?
> 
> On another note, I'm not sure I managed to word it well, but I kind of thought that instead of seeing Prauf's life on Bracca as a dead end, maybe to find his words of 'you don't wanna end up like me' translating as him (accurately) seeing Cal as not being satisfied with or simply being unable to have a simple life there.
> 
> Or I dunno. Maybe I watched the cutscene on YouTube one too many times. Many thanks to Gamer's Little Playground, whose complied clips I watched over and over again to make all of the chapters in this series.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) I have no Beta. I've tried to edit out all of the errors and redundant wording, but if you find any, leave a message and I'll edit it as soon as possible.
> 
> (2) Many thanks to Gamer's Little Playground on YouTube, whose compilation of the game's cutscenes made these chapters possible in the first place.
> 
> (3) I hope you enjoyed the fic! Thanks so much for reading.


End file.
